


No Accidental Meetings

by CosmoKid



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Bickering, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 00:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20629841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmoKid/pseuds/CosmoKid
Summary: A loud crash draws his attention away from his bowl and to the entrance where he locks eyes with a man with bloodshot eyes. He sits up straight, taken aback by the man’s roguish, haggard appearance. There’s sheer panic his eyes.The man lets out a scream, not breaking eye contact before he procalims, “You’re all going to die.”It takes him several seconds to realize that his eyes aren’t deceiving him and that said man getsbittenby a sickly looking woman with clumped hair who growls. He’s not sure if he imagines someone shoutingzombie, but that hardly matters when whatever the hell it is storms the restaurant.Stormmight be the wrong word with how they carry themselves, mostly dragging themselves across the floor. It’s still terrifying.Or in which there are zombies, soulmates and bickering.





	No Accidental Meetings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).

> first off to kali,
> 
> thank you so much for your donation! it means so much and im so happy that the money has gone to a very good cause! thank you so much!!!  
also i apologise for this being two weeks later than i planned, life has been hectic as fuck recently and writers block is the actual worst, i would like to file a formal complaint, but i hope this is good and that you enjoy it!  
again, thank you!!
> 
> also to anyone else reading,  
this was inspired by

“So,” Josephine says, her voice drawing his head away from the exit and back to her. She seems nice enough, but if this is what she considers an average Friday night, they’re not suited for each other at all. He scratches the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. “You’re a banker?”

He swallows and glances down at his soup. “Not exactly.”

She makes a noise in the back of her throat and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Well, your cousin-”

“He’s not my cousin,” he interrupts, still staring at his soup. He’s debating whether or not he hates the idea of paying for a three-course meal where one of them is glorified soup or if he hates his neighbor for guilting him into this date more.

“Well, anyway,” she says, seemingly unperturbed. “Your not-cousin said that you work for a bank.”

“I do,” he says and nods. He takes a deep breath and glances around the restaurant, his eyes fixating on a brunet man heading back to his table. His hair is up in a bun, looking unbelievably soft. His eyes follow him to his table, only looking away when he hears Josephine cough. “I uh I work the front desk.”

Her lips purse and she stares down at her salad. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He’d prefer if the next few moments were filled by an awkward silence but rather it’s broken by quiet clashes of metal spoons to china bowl or Josephine’s knife and fork sliding together. Around them, an easy chatter fills the air and he wishes that he and Josephine could find that.

Truly, he doesn’t want this date to go horribly, but from the moment he sat down, something felt wrong. His wrist has been burning since he neared the restaurant, the three letters burned so elegantly onto his skin singing with something. He’d thought for a second that his neighbor had been right and that Josephine is his soulmate, but he just knows that she’s not. They’re not meant for each other in any sense of the word.

And by the look on her face, she knows it too. She’s made an effort to look polite, but he can tell that she’s just as uncomfortable as he is. He’s tempted to try and start a conversation about the 1960s in Europe since that’s her area of research for her major. She’d talked about it for a while when they’d first sat down and had seen genuinely happy as she spoke.

He has absolutely no interest in it, but it’s a lot more interesting than the awkward quiet between them now. He’d take anything over it.

She breaks the almost silence in a tight, “Well if you’ll excuse me, I need to spend a penny.”

He blinks. “You need to what?”

“Spend a penny?”

The way she’s looking at him tells him that he’s the one being stupid now, but that doesn’t help him figure out what she means. He sucks his teeth and nods, “Right.”

“I’ll be right back,” she tells him and smiles tightly. He nods again and pretends he doesn’t see her head to the exit rather than the bathroom.

He wishes he could be upset about being stood u1p if that is the word, but he’s not. The way his shoulders relax and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding tells him that he’s actually relieved. Her salad is half-eaten and he hates that he’ll most likely have to pay for it, but he knows that paying for two starters is going to be cheaper than paying half for a three-course meal in this kind of restaurant.

Turning his attention back to his soup, he resolves to eat the rest of his and her starters to get the most out of his money. He can’t afford to waste it.

A loud crash draws his attention away from his bowl and to the entrance where he locks eyes with a man with bloodshot eyes. He sits up straight, taken aback by the man’s roguish, haggard appearance. There’s sheer panic his eyes.

The man lets out a scream, not breaking eye contact before he procalims, “You’re all going to die.”

It takes him several seconds to realize that his eyes aren’t deceiving him and that said man gets _bitten_ by a sickly looking woman with clumped hair who growls. He’s not sure if he imagines someone shouting _zombie_, but that hardly matters when whatever the hell it is storms the restaurant.

_Storm_ might be the wrong word with how they carry themselves, mostly dragging themselves across the floor. It’s still terrifying.

He stumbles back to his feet, immediately tripping over his chair. He splays back onto his back, trying to find something to defend himself with as he pushes himself up to his feet.

His hand wraps around a butter knife and he flings himself forward, knocking someone out of the way of a zombie. He stabs blindly, the knife cutting through rotting flesh like he’s trying to cut through gammon with a butter knife.

There are about two seconds where he can breathe before a force knocks him off his feet. He gasps, trying to stab with the butter knife. _Fuck_, he thinks, tears leaking out of his eyes, _I’m going to die_.

He doesn’t, surprisingly. The zombie falls on his chest, a dead weight. He scrambles back, jumping when he hears a thud. His eyes zero in on a cash register on the floor.

He looks up to see a man with dark hair staring down at him, holding out a hand for Steve to grab. “We need to go.”

“Go?” he asks, letting the man help him up. He glances around the restaurant. It’s mostly empty now, their only company being corpses. He doesn’t know which were dead before today.

“Go,” the man confirms, raising his eyebrows. “You want to stay here with the dead bodies? How long do you think before this place is swarmed with zombies? You really want to stay here?”

“No, but I don’t have a clue who you are! You could be a murderer for all I know.”

“I think there are bigger problems here,” the man tells him with a deadpan look on his face. He gestures down to the zombie that was about to kill Steve. It’s a very good point.

“… Go where?”

“Anywhere,” the man tells him and runs a hand through his hair. “You drive?”

He shakes his head, “No, and don’t ask me to try, I have motion-induced narcolepsy.”

The man sighs, “Great, you got a car?”

“I don’t drive, why the hell would I have a car?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. “Do you have a car?”

“In this economy? Anyway, if I had one, why would I ask you?”

“I don’t know, you asked a guy who can’t drive because of motion-induced narcolepsy if he had a car,” he snaps and then breathes out. He rolls his shoulders back in an attempt to calm down and holds his hand up when he sees the man begin to argue back. “Just don’t, just… do you at least drive?”

The man gives him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, but that’s not helpful considering we don’t a have a car.”

He huffs, “Yet.”

“Yet?”

“We don’t have a car yet,” he confirms.

“Wait, are you going to hotwire a car?” the man asks, practically radiating disbelief.

“No, I’m going to say open sesame and hope it opens for me. Yes, I’m going to hotwire a car.”

“You want us to hotwire a car, but you had a qualm with going with me in case I was a criminal?”

He sighs, “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

* * *

The road ahead of them is empty. Judging by the sky, he assumes it’s nearing midnight so it’s not exactly rare for that to happen, but there’s something eerie about it now. He thought there would be a rush of cars trying to get out of the city, but the roads have mostly been empty. It feels like they’re the only two people left in the city.

He licks his lips and glances at the man sat next to him. He’d introduced himself as Bucky once they’d gotten onto the road, seeming to be more at ease once he was driving. His eyes are locked on the road ahead and his hair is pulled up into a messy bun. His hands are gripped tight on the wheel, his knuckles white.

Steve bites his lip and looks away. His eyes catch on the glint of metal from the gun they’d found in the car they’d stolen. He can’t say borrowed anymore, no matter how much he wants to. He still feels weird about immediately agreeing to run off with some strange man, but there’s something in him wanting to stay near at Bucky at all times and there’s a part of him that feels warm in being near him.

It doesn’t outweigh the mounting sense of dread he’s feeling. Everything feels hopeless like they’re driving around in circles. He can see the buildings as they drive past, but it feels like there’s no civilization left.

Taking a deep breath, he turns to Bucky, “Where are we going?”

Bucky doesn’t look at him, remaining silent. Steve can only just pick up on his gaze hardening and his shoulders tensing.

He sighs, “You don’t know, do you?”

“Well, I don’t see you giving any suggestions,” Bucky says in a tight voice. He swallows, his stomach dropping.

“We need food and water and other stuff, right?” he starts and scratches his wrist nervously. “If we want to survive for more than two days?”

“Obviously.”

He nods, “Okay, where’s the nearest mall?”

Bucky turns to him then, his face incredulous, “Seriously? A mall?”

“Yeah.”

“You think everyone else hasn’t thought of that?” Bucky asks him and snorts, turning back to the road. Steve grits his teeth. “It’ll be a bloodbath.”

“And? It’s not like you skipped leg day,” he points out, staring pointedly at Bucky’s legs, but soon his eyes wander as does his mind, _or arm day, or chest day, or anything day._ He shakes his head and looks back out of the window.

“Yeah, and I need these legs to drive.”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He wishes Bucky would stop making such good points. “Where else do you expect us to get any of this stuff?”

Bucky doesn’t reply for a few seconds before he murmurs, “I don’t know.”

“Helpful.”

“I don’t see you giving any suggestions,” Bucky snaps, glancing at Steve for half a second so he can glare at him.

He rolls his eyes, “I just did and you shot it down.”

“Yeah because it was stupid.”

“Well, we have to go somewhere, we can just drive around forever,” he points out, throwing his hands in the air. He curses when he catches his hand on the roof, not missing Bucky’s snort at it. If it was anyone else, he’d be upset, but hearing Bucky snort makes his chest tighten.

He looks down at his feet and pulls his shirt sleeve down over his burning wrist.

“I,” Bucky starts after what feels like forever. Steve doesn’t look up, but nods to show that he’s listening, “My stepdad has a cabin just out of town. It’s full of food and shit.”

“What?”

Bucky sighs, “My stepdad is a doomsday prepper.”

Letting out a breath, he murmurs, “That’s convenient.”

“And on the other side of town.”

He looks up to see Bucky staring at him with questioning eyes. He bites his lip and nods, “Well, step on it.”

Bucky smiles for just a second and then schools his face into a mocking scowl, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Steve rolls his eyes despite the smile blossoming on his face, “Just do it.”

* * *

The night is drawing to a close when the car rolls to a stop. He wishes he could say he wakes up slowly, but it’s more of a jolt awake than anything. He blinks and looks at Bucky, the apology for falling asleep in his eyes.

“Why are we stopping?” he asks instead, sitting up straighter in the seat.

Bucky gestures out the window with one hand whilst undoing his seatbelt with the other, “That store is empty.”

He stares at the shop, his brow furrowing and then looks at Bucky, “We’re raiding a corner store?”

“I have a lot of questions about your morals,” Bucky says in lieu of answering, raising his eyebrows at Steve.”

He scowls though he’s aware it’s more of a pout, “Ask them.”

“It was a… rhetorical statement,” Bucky says after a few moments of silence. Steve rolls his eyes, trying to give him the most unimpressed look possible. Bucky huffs and leans over to undo Steve’s seatbelt himself. “Whatever, come on. We don’t have time to waste.”

Steve stares at him for a few seconds as Bucky opens the door and climbs out of the car. He frowns and murmurs, “It feels like time is all we have.”

He’s surprised to find that they don’t argue once they get into the shop, him practically handing the gun over to Bucky before they’re even out of the car. He doesn’t say anything in response, but the way he looks at Steve and nods makes his entire body itch, his chest warming up. He runs a hand through his hair and nods when Bucky tells him to look for non-perishable food while he checks in the back for anything useful.

To say he was expecting to see any food of use in the store would be an overstatement, but it appears that most of the shelves are unraided. His eyes narrow as he looks at the shelves, there’s something wrong here.

Taking a deep breath, his eyes zero in on the products. He reaches to an empty box on the floor with his foot, nearly tripping over himself as he does so. He sighs and leans down to pick it up.

Having a mild gluten allergy, he’s used to being quite picky with his food, but there’s a part of him that knows that he does not have that luxury anymore. So he resigns himself to shoveling as many tins and packages into the box as he can until he can barely hold it himself. 

The box clatters to the ground when he hears Bucky call out to him. He practically throws himself across the store toward the backroom door. It’s only at the last minute that he notices a fire extinguisher to his right, scooping it up as he barrels through the door.

His mind goes blank when he sees Bucky, pure rage and panic taking over. He only comes back to himself when he’s staring down at Bucky with a bloody fire extinguisher in his hands. He blinks and throws it aside. There’s something undignified in kicking a corpse out of the way, but Steve feels no guilt over it. He _needs_ to get to Bucky.

“Thanks,” Bucky breathes out and Steve holds his hand out to help him up. A jolt of electricity seems to go through it when their skin touch.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs and takes a deep breath, mentally preparing to say more. He doesn’t get that far, getting interrupted by a scream before he can open his mouth. He blinks, the noise going through him.

Bucky reacts quicker, drawing his gun and stepping forward in the direction of the noise. Steve bites his lip, watching with narrowed eyes.

He stumbles back when he sees a young girl step out, her hands shaking. Her blonde hair is dirty and full of knots and her clothes looked ripped to hell. By the time Steve has even processed it, Bucky has approached her and is speaking to her in a quiet voice. He feels his wrist burn and a deep yearning seems to set in his stomach.

Shaking his head, he breathes out and takes it in when he hears the girl say her name in a high-pitched voice. Bucky glances back at him and gestures for him to step forward. He nods, approaching the two of them and bending down so he’s at her level.

“Hi Sharon, do you know where your parents are?” he asks in the softest voice he can manage. Still, he’s aware of how tight it is. She shakes her head and he tries not to show how panicked he is. “Is there anywhere you could uh, could go?”

“Mom said that in an an an an,” she starts and stops to let out a quiet sob. He wants to reach out and hug her, but he doesn’t want to alarm her more. He doesn’t know this child, couldn’t even guess her age. “She, she said in an, an emergency, I should go to Aunt Peggy’s.”

He nods, “Okay, so uh where is Aunt Peggy?”

“She has a farm just outside of town,” Sharon tells him and he nods again. “It’s near, near the K-Mart and just past the Paradise Uncovered sign.”

The Paradise Uncovered sign has been there for as long as he can remember, the sign peeling away and becoming weathered by the seasons. It’s barely there anymore and Steve never figured out what it was selling.

“Okay,” he says to her and on an impulse, he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “Why don’t we help you get to Aunt Peggy’s?”

She nods and he nods, trying to smile the best he can.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky murmurs next to him, “Can I talk to you?”

He glances to Sharon who nods again, “Yeah?”

Bucky leads him to the main part of the store, a worried look on his face the entire time, “That farm is in the opposite direction of where we’re going.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean, yeah?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrows.

He rolls his eyes, “It doesn’t matter where it is, we can’t abandon a kid.”

“I’m not saying we should, but we have no idea if this Aunt is even alive,” Bucky points out, crossing his arms. “This farm might not even exist.”

“And?”

“_And_?”

“A farm is a perfect place to bunker down,” he says, his arms itching to mimic Bucky’s pose.

“And we don’t know that it exists,” Bucky tells him and Steve’s stomach drops. A chill runs over it, his spine shooting up to a railrod position. He runs his hand through his hair, trying to get his heart to stop hurting just by yelling about it in his brain.

He bites his lip, “I won’t convince you, will I?”

Bucky’s mouth forms a thin line and Steve’s shoulders slumps. He takes a deep breath and scrunches up his nose. He refuses to let any tears flow, not now.

“Just go,” he says and looks away from Bucky’s face. “Just go, take the car and go, I’ll take the kid.”

“Steve-”

“What?” he asks in a surprisingly bitter voice. “I’m not going to convince you and you’re not going to change my mind so just go.”

Bucky stares at him several seconds before he unfurls his arms and holds out the gun, “Take it.”

His fingers curl around it, searching for the warmth of Bucky’s skin, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Bucky tells him, “I’d feel more comfortable knowing you have it.”

Steve lets out a breath, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at Bucky before one of them moves. As soon as the gun was secure in his hand, a haze ran over his mind like warm honey. His chest aches and everything seems lost.

One of them moves eventually, he hopes it was him.

* * *

There’s a lot of walking in the next two days, guiding Sharon down empty streets. He tries to stay vigilant at all times, but as his legs start to burn, it becomes harder to keep an eye out at all times. It doesn’t seem to matter, the city is practically abandoned.

He’d waited until dawn before heading out in hopes of protecting Sharon, but they've yet to come across a single threat since. It’s hard to believe that the city has emptied within a couple of days, but the only life besides them appears to be the grass on the lawns they pass.

Sharon hasn’t let go of his hand since they head out and it brings him more comfort than he’d like to admit. Part of it is knowing where she is at all times, but another part is just human contact.

It’s hard to find topics to talk about that don’t widen an already open wound of what the hell happened to her parents and that she had been hiding out in a store with a zombie. He can tell she’s tough, but it’s easier for them if they just avoid the topic at all. Instead, he asks her about her favorite animal and her favorite color and lets her ramble about purple snails for a while. It brings a genuine smile to her face and it nearly fills up the hole he can feel in his chest.

His wrist has been burning since Bucky left and all he can think about is the other man’s face. They barely know each other, but Steve misses him.

The first night, they bunker down in an abandoned house. He takes note of the lack of family photos on the wall and when Sharon has settled in, he sets about collecting all their leftover food into a bag he found under the sink. They didn’t leave much but they need everything they can get.

He was surprised to find the stove still working, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth so he sets about making a decent sized meal for them. Stocking up on energy now will be helpful in the future. It’ll take them days to get to the farm.

Still, it’s not enough for Sharon who pouts when he puts the makeshift meal in front of her. “I want ketchup.”

“Well,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck. “We don’t have any.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he says, trailing off. “There isn’t any.”

“I always have ketchup at home,” she tells him, a pregnant pause following the phrase. He looks down at his own meal, the baked beans seeming a lot less appetizing than continuing this conversation. There’s a part of him that thinks Bucky would be better at this.

They curl up on the sofa for the night after they’ve eaten, wanting an easy exit if they get swarmed. It’s hard to sleep when he knows that he could get himself and a young girl killed if he’s not careful, but he drops off eventually. He can’t stay awake forever.

The next day is much like the next, walking through the streets. Again, Sharon doesn’t let go of his hand so he finds it okay to take in his surroundings more. He knows where she is.

It’s late afternoon where Steve takes up peering into the houses they walk past, looking for any sign of life. They can’t be the only people left in the city, that would be ridiculous. Yet he doesn’t see anything, not even a curtain rustling.

It was a bad idea to do it. He finds it out the second he hears Sharon scream. His eyes widen when he sees a hand grabbing onto her ankle and he drags her away with all his might. They end up sprawled on their backs in the road, Sharon on his chest.

He scrambles up to a seating position, pushing her behind him when he sees the body the hand came from and it’s crawling towards them. 

“Sharon run!” he commands, his hands scrambling to find the gun. It’s not his waistband. Fuck.

He looks around, his vision seeming to get blurry. He can’t see it and he can’t focus. Sharon is crying and his heart is beating in his ears and the zombie is growling as it advances on them. Fuck, fuck, they’re going to die. That’s it, they’ll be dead. _Fuck_.

His eyes flutter closed, waiting for the attack. Maybe he can have some dignity in his last moments.

But it never comes.

Instead, he feels pebbles fly into him and his eyes fly open. He blinks then wipes his eyes. That’s not a zombie, it’s a car. And he knows the car.

“Come on!” Bucky yells, pushing the passenger door open. “Get in!”

Steve obeys, pushing Sharon in first and then climbing in himself. He slams the door after himself and helps Sharon settle into the back seat. She’s still crying and his heart is still beating like a bass drum. He breathes out, his entire body is thrumming with energy. He glances at Bucky who nods at him and just for a second, Steve wants to kiss him.

* * *

By the time Sharon has stopped crying and has settled down to sleep, Steve’s own eyes are drooping. He refuses to fall asleep though even though he can see that it’s night now. It’s only now that he can put his seatbelt on which seems trivial after everything they’ve gone through.

The adrenaline will wear off soon, he knows that. They’re all just waiting for the shoe to drop.

Still, he feels better sitting next to Bucky. He’s able to relax in the car seat, the pang of hurt in his chest much less obvious now. His skin still feels like it’s thrumming with electricity, but he doesn’t mind it.

He licks his lips and looks over to Bucky, his voice barely above a whisper, “You came back for us.”

The man nods, his eyes not leaving the road. Steve tries to ignore the disappointment rings in that response. “Yeah, I was an asshole for not going with you in the first place.”

“Yeah, you were,” he says and his voice is only a little bitter.

Bucky lets out a huff a chuckle, giving Steve a sideways glance, “I was expecting you to disagree.”

“Why?” he asks and lets out an incredulous laugh. “You were an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits, turning his head to lock eyes with Steve. He feels himself freeze under the intensity of the stare. “Yeah, I was. I’m sorry.”

He nods and drums his fingers on the dashboard, “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“No,” he says and rolls his eyes, trying to lighten the mood. “But considering we appear to be an apocalypse where I’ve yet to see anyone else alive, holding grudges seems just a tad bit pointless.”

Bucky’s head cocks to the side. “Fair point.”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence settles over them at that point, every instinct in Steve’s body telling him to climb over and sit in Bucky’s lap. He doesn’t because that would be wrong on so many levels, including social etiquette and driving safely.

He has to admit, on a list of things he thought would survive an apocalypse, social etiquette and driving safely didn’t even crack the top one-hundred.

Bucky is the one who breaks it, “You should sleep, we should get into a habit of one of us being awake while the other sleeps.”

“Okay,” he says, unable to stop a smile growing on his face. It feels permanent and more importantly, it feels _right_. “Night, Bucky.”

“Night, Steve.”

* * *

“You were seriously born on the fourth of July?” Bucky asks him for what feels like the sixth time today. He has no idea how long they’ve been driving or how they even got onto this topic, but he almost doesn’t mind.

The conversation in the car flows easily and he feels more at home than he has for as long as he can remember.

He affirms for maybe the tenth time that he was, in fact, born of the fourth of July.

“Seriously?”

“Why is that so weird to you?” he questions, rolling his eyes.

“Because you were born on the fourth of July!” Bucky exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

He sighs, “It’s just a date.”

“_And today_,” Bucky starts in a deep voice. Steve blinks, pressing his legs together for a second before he schools his face back into a mocking glare. “_Is our Independence Day_.”

Steve closes his eyes, knowing exactly what’s coming. When you’re born on the fourth of July, you learn to expect. “I swear to fucking God if you recite that speech-”

Bucky interrupts him, immediately launching into the entire speech which Steve really should have expected. He has a feeling that neither of them is the type to back down from a challenge. Not that he minds that, his last relationship fell apart because Steve never backed down from anything.

“I hate you,” he proclaims, his cheeks hurting from the smile that refuses to budge from his lips.

The speech doesn’t stop and though at first, he just glares, he soon finds himself joining in. He knows that speech by heart; he could recite it in his sleep. Plus, he’s happy to recite it as long as Bucky is doing it too. Especially if Steve can look at his face and his so very kissable lips.

They fall back into an easy conversation after that, talking about anything and everything. The buildings and fields go by in a blur as they argue about the musical value of Coldplay or whether or not cinnamon can improve the taste of anything which it definitely can’t.

They’re only interrupted when Sharon pipes up in the backseat, shocking them both. She squeals, stretching up to point out the window. Her words are rushed and high-pitched and it takes several moments for Steve to realize she means it’s the farm.

“Turn,” he says to Bucky who gives him a deadpan look like _wow, did you think I wasn’t going to do that, asshole?_

He rolls his eyes as Bucky turns down the road, his whole body clenching up. He forces himself to breathe, only moving when the car rolls to a stop. Sharon is out like a dart, nearly tripping over her seatbelt. He only feels a little guilty for smiling.

When he’s out of the car, he notices a woman with surprisingly immaculate hair considering it’s the goddamn apocalypse walking towards them with purpose. Sharon runs straight into her arms, squealing all the way.

A real smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he watches it and when he glances momentarily at Bucky, he seems to have a similar look on his face.

The woman sends Sharon into the farmhouse, telling her to find Aunt Angie and Steve barely resists the urge to whisper _I told you so_ to Bucky.

To Steve’s surprise, the woman walks straight toward them with a smile on her face, “James Buchanan Barnes, never thought I’d see your face again.”

Bucky lets out a soft laugh beside him, “I can say the same about you, Margaret Carter.”

He blinks. _James Buchannan Barnes?_

His hands fumble at Bucky’s arm before he knows what he’s doing, “Wait, your name is James?”

Bucky gives him a weird look, “Yeah?”

“And your initials are JBB?” he asks, his voice a little breathless. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels like he could run a goddamn marathon.

“Yeah.”

His wrist is aching when he asks his next two questions, “What letters are on your wrist? Is it SGR?”

“Yeah.”

“For Steven Grant Rogers,” he murmurs.

Bucky’s eyes widen, “Wait-”

Steve doesn’t wait, instead, he loops his arm around Bucky’s neck and captures his lips with his own, pulling him into him. He’s never been kissed like this before, never this softly and yet passionately. All of it just feels _perfect_, like this is where Steve has always meant to be.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he murmurs when they pull away.

“Why the hell haven’t you?”

He closes his eyes for a second and breathes through his nose, “Nope, we’re not getting into that now, nope.”

Bucky snorts, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. Steve stares up into his eyes. It makes sense, all of it, everything. He just feels so right, for the first time in his life.

He doesn’t doubt that he could have stood there all day staring at Bucky if Peggy hadn’t interrupted them, “Come on, lovebirds, dinners nearly ready and you need to introduce me to this boyfriend of yours.”

_Boyfriend_, he thinks, _I like the sound of that._

_There are no accidental meetings between souls. – Sheila Burke_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3  
And again thank you for the donation!!!


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